


House Rules

by dark_muse_iris



Series: BTS Oneshot Stories [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Dom Min Yoongi | Suga, Dom/sub, Domestic, Dominance, Edgeplay, F/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Punishment, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: Frustration over recent political changes sets your rage aflame as you fill your day with heated exchanges, well into the morning hours. After your mild-mannered husband tries to calm the peace at home and fails, he flips the tables and uses dominance to break through your stubbornness and help you see the error of your ways.Excerpt:Yoongi, your loving husband of some years now, always knew you were a passionate person, especially when you felt the cruel yoke of injustice being thrust upon you. The urge to fight and be vocal at those times was not a trait you shared, as he was a man of few words, but he was at least understanding and accepting of it. At least he was—until that week.





	House Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
> 
> Genre: Smut
> 
> Warnings: Dom!Yoongi, husband/wife relationship, teasing, punishment, edging, anal play, dirty talk, political themes

One month. It had been one month since a certain democratically-elected official had been sworn into office. And since then, you had spent every infinitesimal moment of free time online, aggressively reposting news articles in a paltry attempt to convince his voters how tragic of a mistake they had made in choosing him. It was a waste of time, you knew, but with every click of the mouse you felt like you were reclaiming some fragment of lost ground in the name of common sense. In your mind, you could at least rest easy knowing your social media posts would be a testament to you being on the right side of history.

Yoongi, your loving husband of some years now, always knew you were a passionate person, especially when you felt the cruel yoke of injustice being thrust upon you. The urge to fight and be vocal at those times was not a trait you shared, as he was a man of few words, but he was at least understanding and accepting of it. At least he was—until  _that_  week.

It all began with the executive orders. You expected a few, sure, but the sheer volume in such a short span of time was overwhelming. Every morning you woke up feeling sick, and every night you stayed up well past a responsible bed time as your fingers furiously blasted your latest oppositional rant. Work did not matter. Sleep did not matter. The only thing that mattered was fighting on, countering arguments with the overconfidence only an advanced degree could afford you.

And it continued well into the night, sometimes as late as three or four in the morning, as your call log filled with heated exchanges of solidarity with friends and colleagues who shared your views. And each night, Yoongi would crack open the door of your bedroom, only to find you were heading into hour two of your latest conversation. The topic: “What an Asshole.”

“I know, right?! It felt so good deleting all those assholes off my feed,” you celebrated. “I don’t need those toxic people in my life.”

“Sweetheart,” Yoongi poked his head in, donning a pained expression, “it’s after midnight. You have to be up for work in four hours.”

You nodded dismissively and mouthed the words, “I’m almost done. It’s my sister.” Yoongi frowned as he knew the likelihood of being “almost done” was about 7%. And sure enough, it was almost 2 AM before you got off the phone. As you headed towards his office to say goodnight to him, you formulated your apology for being up so late discussing politics—again.

“Hey,” you began, in the sweetest, more sugary tone you could muster. “I’m so sorry sweetie, it was my sister and she was upset. I couldn’t just leave her on the phone like that. She needs me.”

A strained breath left his chest as he calmly continued to glide the mouse along the surface of the mouse pad, each click a peaceful press of his finger. “I know,” he sighed, “but did it have to be three hours? You’re getting so worked up and every day you’ve come home from work more upset. This isn’t healthy.”

“But this is important! Rights are being infringed upon!” you argued as your face flushed in outrage.

“Getting Hulk-level angry isn’t going to help anything, ___. You keep bringing politics into the house and it’s disturbing the peace here,” he grumbled irritably. “This is supposed to  _our_  sanctuary, remember?”

 _Of course_ , you realized. The house rules, the first of which was no politics in the home. It was a rule you and Yoongi had jointly agreed upon and established during the primary elections last year. Back then, you were also up until past midnight, reading too many articles and having too many late-night phone calls. And there were so many arguments over nothing in those days, as you let your temper get the better of you to the point of getting severe migraines and missing work the next day. So Yoongi, your sweet and temperate husband, intervened—by withholding sex until you came to your senses. The wait was never long, as Yoongi took every advantage of knowing all your kinks and turn-ons and turned them savagely against you until you were begging for forgiveness. It was a cruel game of punishment to play and after years together, Yoongi was a master at it. And he knew it well.

“Are you saying that if I don’t keep my mouth shut, you’ll block all sex again?” you pressed, increasingly upset as you reminisced over your previous dry season.

“No,” he retorted calmly, trying to keep his frustration under control. “What I’m saying is that we had an agreement. You can have your views and I support you, but we’re not going through this again. You drove me up the damn wall for weeks, woman. You know you earned that punishment last time.”

He was right. You earned it fair and square after you monologued for over an hour about the struggle of “being a woman in a man’s world” and made you both late for his sister’s birthday party. You  _may_  have overreacted and applied poor timing in that situation.

“Yes,” you agreed begrudgingly, “I earned that one. I’ll try to do better, I promise...but I’m so angry right now. How could this have happened?!”

He turned towards you and took your hand, rubbing his thumb tenderly over your soft skin.

“I know, babe,” he said as he gave your hand a soft peck, refusing to take the bait. “Sleep well.”

“I’ll try my best,” you returned a kiss to the top of his forehead. “Goodnight Yoongi. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Got a lot of work to do tonight,” he mumbled with a sigh, as the mouse clicks resumed.

* * *

 

The next morning you awoke to the latest headline: your country’s leader just insulted the prime minister of a long-time allied country. With a tweet. Your finger swiped aggressively at your phone’s screen as you sped-read through the latest updates.

“What. The. Fuck?!” you choked, kicking your feet furiously under the covers.

“Dammit woman…” Yoongi grumbled from his fetal position, half-asleep, “didn’t we just have this conversation yesterday?”

“HE’S GOING TO GET US BLOWN UP!” you shrieked, jumping out of the bed. “I’m going to expedite our passport renewals before he installs marshal law and we won’t be able to get the fuck out of here!”

Yoongi’s only response was to grunt, jerk the covers, and recede further into his blanket burrito. You thought he might counter by reminding you that getting overworked again would have its consequences, but the soft rise and fall of the blankets informed you that he had no plans to continue the conversation. Perhaps he would be more talkative in the afternoon once you got home from the office. For now, you couldn’t focus on his feelings on the matter; you only had a few minutes before leaving for work to repost the article and add your social commentary on the latest national embarrassment.

* * *

 

Your shift at work was winding down to the last hour, and all you could think about was getting home. The stress and frustration at the office made you yearn for the one outlet that only the loving embrace of your husband could provide. You fished in your purse for your cell to leave a nice, flirty message for him.

> **[4:45] You:**  Looking forward to coming home to you and those magic hands. Maybe we can spend some time together tonight? ;-)

The phone buzzed immediately.

> **[4:45] Yoongi:**  No.

You tried to laugh it off because you knew Yoongi was sarcastic most of the time, but the stirring feeling of uncertainty in your gut compelled you to text again.

> **[4:47] You:** Aww, come on. Don’t you want to spend time with your wife?

The phone buzzed in reply.

> **[4:47] Yoongi:** You’re in trouble.

_Fuck_. Your stomach flipped as you scrambled to remember the last thing you did or said to him to land you in the kind of trouble that would yield such quipped responses. It did not take long for your memory to hearken back to your morning outburst regarding marshal law. He couldn’t really be upset about that, could he? A naïve part of you hoped that you just left clothes in the dryer, so you pressed further.

> **[4:49] You:** What did I do? Did I leave clothes in the dryer again…?

Yoongi responded without delay.

> **[4:50] Yoongi:**  No. You know exactly what you did, young lady.

Your eyes froze on the words of his message as your blood ran cold.  _Young lady_. It was a title reserved for the cruel punishment game you and Yoongi played. He must have been very upset this morning when you woke him, and had been waiting on the perfect opportunity to settle the score. His inclusion of “young lady” in the message meant two things: 1) he was upset with you, and 2) you were definitely not going to get laid any time soon.

The drive home from work was filled with endless planning on how to persuade Yoongi to forgive you. The punishment game was so awful last time, as you clearly should have remembered. It was only a week and a half wait, but by the end of it Yoongi had become so skilled at teasing that he could make your clit ache with the timbre of his voice. And he kept you in suspense until he had you begging just to touch  _him_ , never mind your own needs. He reduced you into a pathetic puddle of whimpers. Then, when you he thought you were deserving of it, he took pity on you by brutally fucking you on the freshly-mopped kitchen floor until you cried—and then he sent you wobbling to work the next day with bruises on your thighs. Lemon-scented cleaning products held a special meaning for you ever since that day.

You ruminated over those experiences, your hands twisting in anger on the steering wheel as you chastised yourself. How stupid you had been this morning; how reckless you were to even check your phone in the first place. Each turn down the next street brought you closer to paying the penalty you knew was inescapable. As your home came into view, your stomach churned with anxious sentiment because you had every confidence that Yoongi was not going to be his sweet, doting self—but rather the cold, dominant master of tease for whom you had no defenses.

As you entered your home, the fragrant aroma of pot roast filled your nostrils and warmed your chest.  _My favorite_ , you thought as your heart sank, sadly confirming that Yoongi was going to pull out all the stops to make you suffer. You found your husband sitting quietly at a fully adorned dinner table, reading his tablet. Almost right away, you recognized the design of the plates and flinched; not only had he made your favorite dinner while he waited on you to return from work, but he also took the time to serve it on the wedding china which was only reserved for special occasions. In his first move, Yoongi played a flawless hand.

“Hi honey,” you began, increasingly nervous by how beautiful and methodical the table looked, “how was your day?”

Yoongi’s dark eyes lifted from the tablet screen and bored into you as he paused several seconds before responding. He looked thoroughly underwhelmed by you, his lips resting in a calm, indifferent state. On any regular night, he would answer your greeting right away, ask you how your day was, but the delay and his facial expression were all the pieces of the puzzle you needed to suspect he would be fully in character tonight. This suspicion made your brain scramble as you anticipated his answer, trying to stay two steps ahead.

“Peaceful,” he responded coolly, knowing you would interpret that to mean, “It was peaceful while you, crazy person, were away at work.”

“…Thank you for making dinner,” you replied, slightly wounded. You removed your coat and sat down at the place setting across from him. The plate in front of you was neatly ladled with the pot roast feast, and the sight made your stomach growl with insatiable hunger. You lamented as you remembered there used to be a time when you were the better cook, but those days had long since passed once he began to work from home. The prongs of your fork pierced the beef and you raised it to your mouth, preparing to enjoy the first bite—

“Did I say you could eat?” Yoongi interrupted with a stern voice, clenching his jaw.

His question shot straight to your core as your face began to heat up in alarm.  _So, we are going to play that way_ , you confirmed, as you now understood you would have to ask permission for everything this evening. The game continued, as you lowered your fork back onto your plate and folded your hands in your lap. You made your first formal move.

“May I partake in this enticing meal you have prepared, sir?”

The corner of his mouth stretched into a smirk. “You’re lucky I let you sit at this table without asking first,” he said as he glared through hooded lids. “But since you asked nicely for permission, you may eat.”

A wave of relief washed over you at correctly formulating the words to be allowed to move to the next round. You tried not to smile at your early success, aware that he was watching you carefully. Lifting the fork back to your lips, you placed the first bite of your meal onto your tongue and savored it quietly, trying to hide your enjoyment of the taste so he wouldn’t have the upper hand. Your eyes drifted over to Yoongi to find that he had not yet taken a bite, but was staring intently.

“Are you not going to eat?” you asked, chewing slowly as to maintain politeness.

“I’ll eat when I’m ready,” he retorted, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded, his eyes daring you to continue eating.

 _This fucker is going to watch me eat_ , you realized, highly perturbed by this show of authority. You raised the fork to take another bite, watching him study you as you ate the meal he prepared. As soon as the food entered your mouth this time, his eyelids lowered suggestively to focus his view on your soft lips as they rubbed each other gently. Open ogling was one of his favorite tools to implement during the punishment game, so you felt it was only fair to play along. You began to lick your lips slowly after each bite, popping them lightly, reminding him how you like to clean yourself up after sucking him off. Yoongi’s eyes flickered in understanding, then he escalated the tension by bringing his thumb up to brush across his lower lip—a low blow indeed, as it was the same gesture he made whenever he wants to fuck. You lowered your fork and frowned at him; this round was incredibly difficult.

He detected your frustration and countered by leaning over his plate to begin eating—at a crawling pace, with the wicked smirk and hungry gaze he reserved for you whenever he ate your pussy. His eyes refrained from blinking as he stared you down, overfilling his cheeks and tearing at the meat with an appetite of a starving man, his arms wrapped possessively around either side of the plate. You faltered as you imagined him feasting on you like that plate of food, and you felt your body began to ache with need. He continued his assault by groaning softly, picking up the pace of consumption and relishing every bite, his head leaning back to let his eyes roll in contentment. Your hand trembled as you tried to carry on with your dinner, desperately trying to direct your attention to the food rather than his teasing. But he knew you loved watching him eat, and counted on that.

As he watched you pathetically try to continue eating, he raised the stakes by migrating his left hand down into his lap—and winked suggestively. Another low blow, he knew, as you would now be forced to continue dinner under the suspicion that your husband was flagrantly palming himself under the table while watching you partake of his pot roast. You’d give anything to be able to wrap your hand around his girth and squeeze until he cried, but that was not your role to play tonight. You certainly weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you rub yourself at the table, so you accepted that he was going to win this round and decided to speed the eating process up. Racing toward the end of dinner meant you could escape his view and retreat to bed. Maybe you could cheat and sneak a little session with yourself if he got distracted with his work again.

As you cleared your plate, you tried to prepare yourself for your escape, dabbing your napkin politely. “Thank you for dinner, sir. It was delightful,” you recited as you pushed your chair out from under the table.

“Don’t you have dishes to do?” he frowned.

 _Dammit_ , you cursed in your head. You hoped the agreement of “whoever doesn’t cook, cleans” would be brushed aside tonight, but it was clear Yoongi was having none of that.

“Y-yeah, I’ll do the dishes,” you nodded, taking your plates and moving toward the sink. A part of you felt an air of relief because you knew the task of doing dishes allowed you to ponder on something other than his gaze or where his right hand disappeared to during dinner. 

As you ran the water and began to fill the sink with soapy suds, you could feel his stare lingering over you; he had not moved an inch. The thought of him watching you toil over the sink, his eyes crawling over the curves of your pencil skirt as he calculated his next move was enough to make your ears burn with excitement. You shook your head and tried to harden your resolve to concentrate on completing your task and going to bed early. You were not going to let him win this round.

Several minutes of washing went by undisturbed. Your mind eased as your focus turned away from Yoongi and towards a troublesome pan. As you scrubbed against the stickiness of its surface, you felt a firm hand slink between your legs and ride up your skirt, summoning a resurgence of throbbing need.

“Mm…you smell so nice,” he breathed against the shell of your ear, the pad of his middle finger pressing firmly against your cloth-covered clit. You struggled to escape his naughty hand, but he held you in place. 

“Do you know how hard it makes me watching you wiggle your ass as you scrub that pan? I’ll never use non-stick spray again. You’re such a cocktease, ___,” he panted.

He brushed his erection against your ass, causing a haze to take over as the wobble of the room timed to the slow ministrations of his hand, now encircling your clit through the dampening fabric of your panties.

“Please Yoongi…” you whispered, shifting to rub your ass against him as you began to rut your hips.

“Nope.” And with that one word he immediately withdrew his hand and stepped away from you with the cockiest of expressions. “You’re not sorry enough yet.”

“Aw, COME ON!” you shouted in frustration, glaring openly at the straining bulge in his pants.

A sharp snap of his fingers ricocheted off the walls of the kitchen and echoed in your ear. The sound was one of the few that always turned you into submissive mush. Your body’s reaction to comply, as he had trained you through many willing and salacious rounds of the punishment game, was what he expected. You braced yourself against the sink, knees buckling, to prepare for your imminent scolding. Yoongi whipped you around and grabbed you by the jaw.

“Do you think that sass is going to get you what you want, ___?” he growled. “That mouth is what got you in trouble in the first place, tsk. And it’s a shame too; those pretty lips should be around my dick right now, but you don’t know how to behave.”

You clenched at his words as the corners of your mouth turned upward in a sinful smile mushed between the pads of his fingertips. Getting scolded by a voice as sexy as his was worth being in trouble at least some of the time. Upon seeing you enjoy his reprimand, he spun you around to face the sink again and smacked your ass, eliciting the tiniest of whimpers from you.

“Get to cleaning,” he barked.

* * *

 

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since dinner that night. And every day it was something—a look, a graze of his fingertips against your body, a whispered threat. Yoongi, master that he was, stayed in character until all you could feel was the starved yearning for him to put you out of your misery. You had resolved to stay as far away from him as possible to alleviate the tension building up from being in the same room together, but it was a useless pursuit. Senses heightened to a primal state with each passing day as you strained to listen for his footsteps or smell his cologne from around the corner. You knew that any fleeting interaction would leave you fruitless, with an ache in your core and a renewed need for his forgiving touch. Yoongi, meanwhile, was the epitome of self-control, able to abstain for as long as was necessary for you to learn your lesson. And he made sure you remembered it.

“You seem tense today,” he commented as he read his tablet at the dinner table, not giving you the courtesy of addressing you fully with eye contact.

You turned your fork over gently in your plate, calculating the right words to say as your legs began to shake under the table. You knew he was presenting himself as someone who cared for his wife, but under the surface was only intending to tease you more.

“Yes, I’m very tense these days.”

He sighed nonchalantly, skimming his finger along the tablet’s surface, “Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Your throat ran dry. The nerve of his overconfidence. You were convinced he had been masturbating while you were at work, or else he would have cracked sooner and forgiven you. On the other hand, he was erect every day in front of you this week; maybe he was finally going to give in tonight.

“T-that would be…much appreciated, sir,” you eased.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about me,” his eyes lifted to stare you down. “Maybe when you learn your lesson, I’ll  _think_  about touching you again.”

 _This is going to go in circles_ , you dismayed.  _I’ll fight back, he’ll feel me up as he scolds me, and I’ll get nothing._

Resolved to change your strategy, you placed your fork on your plate and wiped the corners of your mouth with your napkin, mulling over the weapons of seduction in your arsenal to use against him. Then you arrived at your solution.

“Maybe  _Master_  can teach me a lesson, then? I’m having a very,  _very_  hard time learning on my own,” you whined, dropping your face into a full-fledged pout and batting your eyelashes.

Yoongi’s eyes flashed as he detected your new power play. His tongue poked against the inside of his cheek and rubbed the flesh in contemplation, then he cleared his throat. The air stood still between the two of you, thick with the unsated tension of two weeks’ worth of teasing. The thuds of your heart racing rang in your ears as you leaned forward to hear his rebuttal.

His eyes narrowed at his prey. Then, after he determined your fate, he shot out his arm and decidedly pointed down the hall with a harsh snap of his fingers.

“Bed. Now.”

The sound of his command set you to immediate action. Your mind was a blur as your legs rushed frantically to carry you to your long-awaited destination. You knew the display was needy, maybe even amusing, but you didn’t care; you were finally going to be free at last. Standing next to the bed, you straightened your stance and waited, craning your neck to listen for the sound of his footsteps. As Yoongi approached your bedroom, you took a deep breath to calm your new burst of excitement.

His aura upon entering the room was nothing short of pure dominance. The beady pupils of his eyes hung upon your frame as you placed your hands at the sides of your thighs, patiently anticipating his next command.

“Strip.”

His order cut through the air like a blade. You scurried to get your clothes off as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t be kept waiting. Yoongi stood there watching you undress, but remained fully clothed and immobile, with arms folded like he was evaluating your performance.

“Back on the bed.”

The flat of your back hit the mattress and your thighs pressed with need as Yoongi remained next the bed, examining you. His eyes grew darker as he loomed over your naked body, raking it with his gaze, as he planned his next moves. He pointed his index and middle fingers at your mouth.

“Suck.”

Your tongue darted to catch his fingertips and lure them into the warm recesses of your mouth. As you sucked, he smirked wickedly, “You’re such a dirty girl. You’d suck anything.” You delivered your practiced response: a hum and nod of your head in earnest while trying to sway him with the softest, sweetest look you could muster.  

“I’m not buying that act,” he countered icily as he dragged his fingers from your mouth with a pop and trailed it down the center of your body toward your aching core. Plunging them in deep past your folds and without restraint, he summoned your first cry of pleasure, your body arching off the bed. The touch felt electrifying as he wasted no time battering your most sensitive spot repeatedly in a race to overwhelm you. Attempting to steady yourself before you fell over in sobs, you tried to latch onto his forearm.

“No—” he spat through gritted teeth as he caught your reaching hand and pinned it back against the mattress angrily. “You don’t get to touch me and you don’t get to touch yourself.”

“What?! That’s bullshit!” you shrieked with the countenance of a most disobedient brat.

His fingers halted abruptly. “You question my authority again and you’ll never come, you hear me?”

Your body cried out for him, and you hated yourself for being so consumed with need. Gulping down your counterargument, you slowly raised your hands above your head to brace yourself, grabbing onto the sheets along the edge of the mattress. You took a deep breath as you prepared your body for what you knew would be a cruel punishment indeed.

Yoongi was a lover who always took his time. He pushed up his shirt sleeves and analyzed his prey meticulously. You knew he was enjoying watching you writhe, clinging to the sheets, waiting on his hand to return home. The lids of your eyes hung over your alluring gaze as your mouth parted, tongue dragging along the ridge of your teeth as you fixated on what you wanted.

“So needy,” he mused as he drove his fingers back inside. His pace was merciless, his targeting exact—a degree of precision only mastered after years together. It did not take long before you felt the curl of release threatening to break. It was so embarrassingly early for you, but after being sexually starved for weeks, you could forgive yourself this once. Your mind drifted as it approached, muscles starting to contract on their own—only to have Yoongi quickly jerk his hand away from you and laugh maniacally.

“NO!” you protested as your eyes welled up, your pleasure waning until it was just out of reach. “I didn’t touch you! I behaved!”

Yoongi’s response was to gingerly lick his fingers one at a time, snickering, “I don’t think you’re ready yet, brat.”

Hearing the slurping sounds of him tasting your arousal was infuriating. His tongue traced his longest finger from base to tip, flicking at the end the end of it as his eyes roamed over your dripping entrance.

“Fuck this,” you spat, shooting your hand down between your legs in defiance. If he wasn’t going to get you off after all this time, you would just take matters into your own hands. Your fingers pressed against your clit and managed to get in one full twist of your wrist before Yoongi intervened, batting your hand away.

“I don’t think so,” he sneered as his hand rained down a hard smack against your mound. The force of the blow increased your aching ten-fold, your labia now swollen and pink. The tunnel in your throat grew dry as your safe word skipped along in the hollow of your mind. Blinking hard enough for tears to slide down from the corners of your eyes, you beamed, celebrating your husband’s skill at inflicting the most delicious, stinging punishment at so vulnerable a place. You could feast on that pain forever.

Yoongi reacted to your satisfied expression by flipping you over onto your stomach. “Hands and knees,” he commanded with another snap of his fingers.

Your legs shifted according to his will, knees and palms firmly planted into the mattress as your body prepared for the next wave of sensations.

“Arch for me,” he said lowly, “like you want it.”

You took a deep gulp as you arched your back in a deep stretch, rooting your stomach to the floor and angling your ass as high as you could stand to appear the most vulnerable to him. You lifted your chin towards the ceiling and let your eyes drift to a close as you felt Yoongi’s firm, veined hands find purchase in the flesh of your hips. His face leaned in closer to your core, still tender and swollen from his earlier ministrations. Your gut filled with excitement as you hoped to be blessed by a lashing of his tongue, but he puckered his lips and blew a cold wisp of wind against you instead. The icy tickle danced across your folds and made your legs quiver in his grip, but he held firm—and blew again. A whimper escaped as you endured his teasing with furrowed brow, your lips pursed tightly.

“I love watching you shake like a leaf,” Yoongi chuckled, bringing his fingers back to rest on your clit again. “Beg.”

“Yoon—

“Tsk, tsk. You know better,” he scolded.

“M-master…” you exhaled as you felt the pads of his fingertips graze against your clitoral hood in the slowest of rotations.

“Mm?”

“Please,” you rocked against his hand to hasten his movements. “Please touch me.”

The desperation in your voice was all the motivation he needed to plunge three fingers mercilessly into your heat, causing you to cry out in surprise.

“Ooo…was that too much for you?” he taunted from behind you, stroking along your walls as you quivered under his control. “How much did you miss my fingers?”

“S-so much,” you stuttered as your arms began to buckle and you constricted hungrily around him.

He chuckled and made a harsh twist of his hand, causing you to hiss, before dragging his soaked fingertips teasingly along your folds, meandering past your puckered rim—grazing it on purpose. The sensation from the quick brush made you jerk as your nipples hardened and a whine slipped past your lips.

“Master,” you mewled, re-flexing your arch in a needy attempt to summon his hands again.

Yoongi walked his fingers along the ridges of your spine before abruptly pushing your face into the mattress. You held you there, hand firmly pressed into the waves of your hair.

“Safe word?” he asked gently, his voice retreating from character temporarily to check on your condition.

You nodded your head determinedly against his hand as he continued to hold you down.

“Clothespin.”

“Good girl,” he cooed as his hand slid back down your back and braced your hip, holding you in place. You knew what was coming next, anticipation mounting as a wicked smile stretched along the flushed cheeks of you face.

“Count,” he commanded, his hand delivering a sharp swat against the curve your ass. The force was enough to reverberate against your folds, making your clit swell with jealousy at the lack of contact.

“One.”

His hand fell swiftly in reply.

“Two,” you panted in bated breath, relishing the searing kiss of his palm.

His thumb moved back to your rim, rubbing it ruthlessly to taunt you. Then he struck again.

“Three,” you hissed, as his thumb continued to move, overwhelming your nerves there until your legs shook. “Fucker.”

“What was that?!” He delivered a harsher blow, making you moan unabashedly.

“F-four…Master.”

“That’s right. Again.” Another smack catapulted you deeper into the recesses of your twisted, pleasured mind. You hoped to savor the sting of his hand for as long as possible.

“Five,” you whined. You felt him pause, waiting to see how your body was reacting and whether to continue. The throbbing between your legs compelled you to wiggle your ass at him, signaling for more of your destruction.

He smirked and pressed his thumb hard against the nerve endings of your rim like he was calling for an elevator, letting his digit slip just past the opening, rolling against it mischievously as you keened—before sending two more blows in rapid succession.

“Ach!!” Your legs quaked as the counts for six and seven rolled off your tongue. Arousal slinked slowly down the trembling expanse of your thigh as tears of pleasure began to fill your eyes.

“You like that, baby?” he taunted, smacking again.

“Eight…god yes,” you moaned, white-knuckling the sheets beneath you.

“Yes, what?” He stilled his palm, skimming it over your burning flesh.

“Yes, Master!”

You tightened your loins, ready for another. The sound of the smack against the skin set you ablaze, desperate for him to fuck you so you could finally have your release. As good as the spankings felt as they lit up your backside, you knew—and he knew—it wouldn’t be enough to sate you.

“Nine.”

Yoongi grunted in approval as he delivered the final blow of his palm against your swollen, red cheeks.

“T-ten,” you stammered, as trying to regain your breath.

As he relaxed his grip on you, his gaze fell to your thighs. “Tsk, look how wet you are. You’re dripping down your leg,” he cooed as you felt his fingertip trace up your inner thigh, gathering your arousal. The feeling made you want to turn around to watch him lap at his finger again, but he pressed his other hand at the small of your back to keep you in the position he wanted, face down with your ass and core on display for him. He did at least do you the courtesy of letting you hear the wet, whistling sounds of him sucking rudely on his digits, finishing with a loud pop like a kid with a popsicle. You were in dire need to be put out of your misery soon, your clit abuzz with the hopes he would show you mercy.

“Please Master,” you began, your voice unmistakably small. “Please let me come.”

“You want to come? You want to make a mess and splash all over this bed? Well, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet,” Yoongi answered as he began to unbuckle his pants from behind you. You heard him pull his dick out but did not detect the full sliding sound of him removing the rest of his clothes. He planned on fucking you like he had somewhere else to be—another hallmark of the punishment game you held in the highest esteem. Although you didn’t want to risk turning around to see for yourself, you hoped he was gripping himself vigorously as he inspected what you were offering him from your current position.

It was no surprise Yoongi chose to enter you with an unforgiving thrust to the hilt. The intrusion was a shock to your oversensitive walls, but the stretch was made all the more delicious by how drenched and needy the spanking had left you. Your lips parted in silent cry as he pulled his hips back until only the head remained inside—before thrusting again with merciless force, his hands digging into your hips to ensure you remained in place to withstand the full effect of him filling you up. You hissed as his nails scratched deeply down your back, setting you alight as he coaxed your body upwards off the bed. He rolled his hips in praise as you arched your back, pressing your palms into the mattress and lifting your chin in bliss, the walls of your core squeezing in gratitude.

Yoongi grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled, causing your eyes to burn.

“Master,” you moaned wantonly, wanting to speak but being too enraptured by the sting of his hands gripping like you wanted.

“I know, baby,” he replied confidently with another lunge inside, using your hair as leverage to pull himself in deeper. “You’re going to take all of it.”

He continued at a brutal rapidity, fucking hard and fast as you flooded the room with a cacophony of cries and calls for him to continue. You were so close, feeling him hit where you wanted over and over as a haze of pleasure washed over like a wave. Clenching sporadically around his dick as your impending release began to mount, you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

“If you come before I tell you to, I swear it will be a month next time,” Yoongi warned with a sharp thrust.

Your body shook in panic at the prospect of him keeping to his word. You scrambled to focus on anything else than the feeling of him slamming into you again. His continued grip on your hair was not making it easy for you to find something else to look at, so you determined you would stare at the ugly white walls of your rental unit and think about how much you wanted to move. That would buy you enough time to meet his demands.

At least that’s the tactic you thought would work—until Yoongi detected your play and switched his tempo to the slow, languid body rolls he knew made you crumble. He released his hold on your hair and returned both hands to your hips to regain full control of each and every savored meeting of your bodies, his panting breaths filling your ears.

Mentally broken by the change of pace, you began to beg for your release, “Please Master, please let me come.”

“Why should I, hm? So you can go off the handle again at the next news article?” he countered with a sharp jerk of hips as his fingers dug into your skin.

“I’ll be good!” you cried, a despondent mess.

He stopped his movement, grabbed your hair again and pulled you off the bed until you were fully upright and leaning with your back flush against his chest. You panted as his right hand crawled up your torso, through the valley of your breasts and above. His hand found its destination as it wrapped around your neck and squeezed skillfully, reducing your air intake. Your first thought was whether you could handle this level of play, whether you should employ the safe word and be done with it, but Yoongi broke through your stream of consciousness as he nuzzled the nape of your neck and groaned in pleasure as he began to move inside you again. He was getting close. You were going to make it.

“You know how much Master cares for you,” he hissed in your ear. “Why do you drive him crazy?”

“Because I’m a bad girl,” you whispered, breathing constricted. “I aim to misbehave.”

He hummed in agreement, “Yes, you think you can vent into all hours of the night and get away with it, don’t you?” His hips snapped cruelly.

“No!” you replied through gritted teeth, becoming light-headed and lost in indulgence.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

You could only nod your head in response. His hand released from your throat and a whoosh of oxygen returned to your body, reigniting the flame of your throbbing core, making you clamp down hard on him. He growled in lust as his right palm skimmed along your chest to grab your breast, kneading it, with his forearm pressed against you, locking you in. You whimpered as the searching fingers of his left hand crawled to your folds.

“Are you going to follow the house rules next time?” he threatened, his finger creeping closer to tease at your clit.

“YES!” you exclaimed, so close to losing all sanity as his hands continued their torment.

“Damn right, you will.”

With that final word, his fingers gave a deliberate sweep against your clit, massaging in tight circles as he resumed his onslaught of hip snaps. A cry tore from your throat as you clung onto his arm, digging your nails in, anticipating the earth-shattering release to come. Yoongi, nipping at your back with his teeth, moaned lowly as he grew increasingly absorbed in his own pleasure.

“Come for me, baby,” he snarled against your skin.

His hands continued their assault as your eyes rolled backwards and your orgasm erupted throughout your bones, making your body tremble against his hold on you as you wailed through overpowering waves of your release. Yoongi wasted no time in taking every advantage of your walls contracting repeatedly, giving your body a final shove into the mattress, his fingers digging into your hips as he rapidly chased his high like a savage animal. Your exhausted body made one last effort to clench as hard as possible to push him over the edge.

“Fuck ___,” he grunted as he made two more vigorous thrusts and exploded, releasing weeks of frustration in one final, sputtering burst inside your walls.

No words were exchanged as the alleviation of the punishment game finally being over settled between the two of you. Yoongi withdrew with a contented sigh, retreating to the bathroom to get cleaned up. You could only lay in the crumpled sheets, basking in the afterglow of being sated so well. As you enjoyed the silence, goosebumps rose along your skin, your body temperature returning to its normal state.

The sound of running water echoed down the hallway. After a few minutes, you heard the water shut off and the patter of Yoongi’s feet returning to you.

“Come on babe, I have a bath ready for you,” he said calmly.

“Mm—I can’t move,” you huffed, your body wrecked with fatigue.

“Then let me help you.”

He threw one of your arms over his shoulder, chuckling with pride as you struggled to move on your own. Your wobbly legs were beyond done, that was certain.

“Psh, shut up…” you whined, poking him in the ribs.

“Is that any way to speak to your Master?” he asked, a gummy smile spreading across his face.

Your clit throbbed involuntarily, making you hiss at him, “Don’t say that word right now. I’m vulnerable!” He continued to laugh at your plight.

As he helped lower you into the bathtub, you felt the warm water’s embrace of restoration. Tomorrow would be hell for you as you knew you would be unable to walk properly, but for now you were going to enjoy this feeling. Once Yoongi saw you begin to relax, he lit a candle for you and turned on your favorite bath time music, then made his turn to leave. His sweet, simple gesture and degree of care after punishment sex always overwhelmed your emotions.

“Hey,” you reached for him.

“Hm?” he turned, eyebrows raised.

You faltered, saying in a shaky voice, “I-I’m really sorry, for breaking the house rules.”

Silence fell in the room as your throat swelled, the memories of the calm, quiet life you had built together flooding your conscious mind. His eyes grew warm as he too recalled all the years you had been together, all the experiences and struggles you shared.

“I love you, ___, even though you’re a pain in my ass,” he reassured, resting his head against the door frame.

Your heartstrings tugged with validation.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

“Enjoy becoming a prune,” he smiled.


End file.
